The Crow: A Poet's Grief
by NiteFenix
Summary: An ex-marine turned Poetry Professor receives the gift of the Crow to avenge himself and his girlfriend. An epic tale of mystery, murder, and revenge. Final chapter is up! Please R & R. Thanks! [Complete]
1. The Fairy Tale

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 1 – The Fairy Tale  
  
"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,  
  
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.  
  
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,  
  
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--  
  
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--  
  
Perched, and sat, and nothing more." An excerpt from  
The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe  
  
Professor James Bradbury lay down his pen nonchalantly next to his notebook as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been working for hours on the presentation he would give his class the following day. He looked up at the clock on the mantel piece in his study. Three minutes past midnight. Eleanor would surely be asleep by now.  
  
He immediately pushed the thought of calling her out of his mind, but as he gathered all his writing utensils the thought of her kept creeping back to the surface from the very depths of his mind.  
  
They had been dating now for nearly a month and she truly made him happy. She seemed happy too. He felt the very first sparks of love the very previous evening on one of their dates.  
  
Jim was quite young for a Professor. In his early twenties, he was considered to be the youngest Professor of English Poetry in Harvard. Revered by his peers and looked upon with awe by his students, he could do nothing but smile at the good fortune that came his way. But he worked hard for everything he had achieved. Eleanor included.  
  
He looked at all his achievements in the form of diplomas and awards lining the walls of his study as he walked by them to the door. He stopped for a moment in front of the diploma near the door.  
  
"Awarded for bravery in the face of danger during the war in Iraq in 2003." He muttered to himself. He never wanted to go, but it was his sworn duty to serve his country and he did what he was told to do.  
  
He gently closed the door behind him and walked down the long carpeted hallway under the hanging lamps of the ceiling to his bedroom. On his way he passed the telephone on the end-table next to the lounge and the thought of calling Eleanor popped up into his mind again. He wanted to push it out of his mind again but then he saw the light across the street was on through the lounge window.  
  
Did she merely leave the light on when she went to sleep and forgotten about it or was she in there right now reading a magazine, her legs propped up in that feminine manner which he admired so much. He pictured her reading some or the other women's magazine on her lounge, comfortably scanning the pages with a cup of java at her side on the end-table.  
  
Without knowing what he was doing, his finger picked up the headset of the phone from it's cradle. He only realized he had the phone in his grip when he felt the cold plastic press again his ear. He reached down with his other hand and punched in the number which he had come to know by now.  
  
A soft ringing came from the other side of the line. He lifted his foot slightly off the ground and examined his shoe. He heard a faint click and then her soft, tired voice came from the other side of the line.  
  
"Hullo?" Her unmistakable Manchester accent bore through to him.  
  
"Hello Eleanor" He heard himself say.  
  
"Jim...Jim is that you? What's the time?"  
  
Jim looked up at the wall clock above the television set. The hands showed Twelve-Fifteen exactly.  
  
"Quarter past Twelve" He said earnestly.  
  
"What in heaven's name are you doing calling me at this hour Jim Bradbury?" She asked in her highly noble English accent.  
  
He chuckled as he thought of her accent in this way.  
  
"I just thought I'd give you a call to tell you that I love you Eleanor Jones" Jim smiled wickedly to himself.  
  
"Oh my James, that is rather sudden don't you think?" All her worry of the late hour suddenly dissipated.  
  
"Not sudden at all Eleanor, in fact, I want to marry you" His grin widened as he anticipated her response.  
  
"Let me think about it James" She hardly ever called him by his formal name. Her English side was showing through tonight. She gave a yawn and then said goodnight. He said goodnight in return and heard a faint click on the other side as she hung up.  
  
As he walked up to the door he heard a faint screeching as if tires were spinning on bare asphalt. He detested the sound. As the sound died down he walked through the door of the lounge and continued the walk down the long hallway. He smiled inwardly as he finally acknowledged just how much this woman meant to him.  
  
He opened the door to his bedroom, he always kept it closed, he was a very private person, and then closed it behind him again. Just as the door clicked shut, he heard a distant sound in the night, something which pulled all his attention to it.  
  
Gunshots.  
  
Gunshots? He thought to himself. In this area? Impossible. Yet there it was again, and this time he could hear screams. The screams of a woman. It was unmistakable. He peered out through the curtains of his bedroom and out into his yard.  
  
"Spast, I can't see anything from here" He muttered to himself and left the bedroom the same way he came in.  
  
He walked down the hallway back to his study and unlocked his gun cabinet. He looked through the array of weapons and finally pulled out a handgun of fine marksmanship. A 9 Millimeter Glock Parribelum. One of the most accurate pistols ever created. With the Parribelum enhancement, even more so.  
  
He removed some 9 mm clips from the top shelf, slid one into the handgun and another few into the inner pocket of his jacket.  
  
Closing the gun cabinet, he picked up a key from his desk, smartly disguised as a miniature American Flag, he slipped the flag out of it's wooden stand and the bottom was unmistakably in the form of a key. He used the key to unlock a drawer of the gun cabinet and removed something which he hadn't seen or used in a while. His trusty Infrared Nightvision goggles. It gave him the element of surprise whenever he needed such assurance to back him up.  
  
He locked the drawer again and placed the flag back in it's place. Another gunshot echoed in the night as he was leaving the backdoor of his house. He figured that he would leave that way to avoid any detection. From operations in far off battlefields he had learned that the element of surprise was best employed by extreme enforcement of stealth, one of his most prided skills.  
  
As he snuck off in the general direction of the gunshots and screaming, he came to realize that the last gunshot had come from across the street and for a fleeting moment the thought occurred to him that it might have been Eleanor's house.  
  
He promptly pushed the thought aside and crept further along the fence until he had a clear view of the street in front of him. The trees lining the pavements shone with an eerie green glow as the streetlamps above shone down on them and the shadows cast below them loomed menacingly over fences and driveways.  
  
He heard a snap to his side, as if someone, or something, stepped on a twig and immediately his attention jerked to it. He dared a quick look over the fence and noticed that it was only a cat, on the prowl. He felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand on edge. He was afraid, he hadn't admitted it until this very moment. Just like he was on many different occasions, out on the battlefield, before he wrote his Professor's exams, before he went on his first date with Eleanor.  
  
He thought of her pretty young face for a moment, imagining the beautiful smile she has whenever he mocked him. She so loved to imitate him, the way he would give his lectures. Her every movement would be exactly like his, even the way he spoke. He would chuckle whenever her feminine voice tried to mock his male tones.  
  
Then the image of her smiling was all of a sudden replaced by a face full of blood and tears, as he heard another gunshot. This time more close. He was jolted back to reality and he crept closer to the street. He slung himself over a nearby fence into the neighbor's property and stealthily ran through the shadows as quick as his feet would carry him.  
  
He paused for a moment as he thought he heard voices. Something which he hadn't noticed before. The people were speaking in hushed tones, but he noticed, sinisterly, as if plotting.  
  
He eyed his 9 mm pistol warily and sighed.  
  
"I should have brought the silencer" He thought despairingly.  
  
He crept a little closer to where the voices were coming from and he faintly began to make out words amongst the silenced words.  
  
"...did you hear that bitch squeal...man this is even better than the last job we did...I swear, we should do this more often..."  
  
"...you didn't do nothin'...we're just backup, in case something goes wrong..." The other man's Italian accent was unmistakable, even through his whispering.  
  
"...d'ya think she's dead yet?" the first man asked, his clear Brooklyn accent shining through.  
  
"...why do you have to ask such stupid questions you freak?" The Italian asked.  
  
Jim had heard enough, as stealthily as a cat, he leaped over the fence, but something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that he was directly under a street light and by jumping over the fence he had exposed himself to the would-be criminals.  
  
They immediately spotted him, having been leaning against the car, smoking and talking and looking at the houses in the boredom. They also immediately spotted the pistol he had in his hand and as swift as any trained killer they had their own weapons in their hands.  
  
Standard Military Issue SMG Assault Rifles. Why hadn't he recognized the patterned tripe bursts from the semi-automatic assault rifles? Jim could have slapped himself, but instead he ducked in behind a tree as the first burst rang past his head.  
  
These were trained killers all right. But what was their game? He knew for a fact then that Eleanor was either dead already, or would be dead soon, and if he wanted to save her life, the slim chance that she still was alive, he had to act fast. He clung to that hope as he leaped from behind the tree, gun poised in front of him like a trained marksman as he squeezed off three succeeding rounds in the thugs' direction.  
  
One struck the Brooklyn guy in the shoulder, or at least, the guy he figured would be the Brooklyn guy. He caught a quick glimpse at them in his leap of faith. The other guy looked to be at least twice as big as the one he thought to be the Brooklyn guy. He had to be the Italian guy.  
  
He heard the Brooklyn guy swear.  
  
"Fucking prick! I'm gonna kill that asshole!" The accent was unmistakable. He had hit the Brooklyn guy.  
  
"Tony help me you fuck!" He shouted at the Italian. The Italian, now revealed to be Tony, just shrugged and reloaded his weapon.  
  
"Why'd you have to try and play the hero, you schmuck" Tony's voice rang out to where Jim was crouching behind the safety of a huge tree.  
  
Jim remained perfectly quiet as he surveyed his surroundings. His time as a US Marine Corps Officer taught him many skills, among which were survival.  
  
By now almost every house in the street had their lights on and a distant wailing in the distance could be heard as the first brigade of the police force was on their way.  
  
Jim had to act fast if he wanted to take these thugs and try to rescue his girlfriend. He checked the clip of his gun and smirked satisfactorily when he saw that he had more than enough shots left to take these two out.  
  
As quietly as he feet could carry him he bolted by them in the shadows and approached them from the rear, studying them as he moved. The Italian, known as Tony, was heavy-set man, dressed entirely in fatigues and armed with not only the semi-automatic rifle, but also with what seemed to be a whole belt full of modified grenades.  
  
He knew they were modified because he had specialized in Explosives in his Marine Corps training. These were modified to explode, not after 30 seconds like standard grenade, but after 5 seconds, which shortened the lifespan of the person it is thrown at by a considerable amount. He had to be careful.  
  
The police sirens were getting closer. He acted just as he had acted not very long ago in the lounge, purely by instinct. He had leapt to his feet as quickly and fluently as if he had been made of the air that surrounding him and he had the gun against the Italian's head as fast as a rattlesnake would seize it's prey. The shot was off even before the gun was against his head. The Brooklyn guy followed soon after with a shot at the back of the head as he tried to bolt away.  
  
He snatched a hand-full of the grenades from the dead Italian's belt before he ran across the street to Eleanor's house.  
  
As he entered through the front door he was confronted by a scene of horror and revulsion. The entire lounge was covered in blood. He had not yet discovered from where it had come, but somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice was shouting at him. Telling him that it was her blood. Eleanor's blood. He stepped further into the house and heard the crunch of glass beneath his shoes as he neared the side-window.  
  
So this is how they got into the house. They smashed the window and came in through the lounge's side window. He had to move quickly. Eleanor's life depended on it.  
  
He heard another scream, and then sobbing. The same pattern three shots resounded through the house and then all was quiet. He approached the stairs and he could hear out the faint muffled voices of men talking to each other and to someone else upstairs.  
  
As he walked slowly up the stairs the voices came through more clearly now.  
  
"...I told you not to leave that fucking fat idiot Tony down there with Eddie, they probably got killed now and the car is our only escape route..." One voice came down clearly.  
  
Jim dared to move up more, not wanting to risk being heard in his ascent. He reached the top of the stairs and a second voice could be heard now.  
  
"..look just calm down Johnny, whoever killed them, wouldn't dare come in here to try and take us on, he's probably down there bleeding his guts out after Eddie shot his fucking balls off..."  
  
Jim chuckled at this guess. These really are stupid thugs. But then the reality of the situations dawned on him again as he heard another stifled cried.  
  
"What do we do with the bitch?" Johnny asked his thug-friend.  
  
"She's already shot up pretty bad, we did what we were told to do and we got the necessary information, so just leave her, she'll bleed to death before the ambulance gets here." The second voice said.  
  
Jim's heart sank as he heard these words spoken.  
  
"These assholes are gonna pay." He mumbled to himself as he cocked the 9 mm.  
  
The two thugs inside Eleanor's room heard the distinctive cock of the pistol in the dead of the night and realized that what they had said was not in the remotest true. Jim was not in the street bleeding his guts out. He was right outside the door, and he was going to kill them.  
  
Johnny removed the clip from his SMG and eyed it warily. He had left his other clips in the car, trusting his own professionalism, he hadn't contemplated this development. He had less than half the clip left and eyeing his partner doing the same thing next to him realized that he too was low on ammunition.  
  
Jim picked the moment after he heard to two distinctive clicks from inside the room to make his move. He leaned in hard into the door, sending the pieces of wood splintering inwards and shattering the mirror on the wall next to the door in the process. The pieces of broken mirror flew with him through the air as he drifted as if in slow motion towards the floor of Eleanor's bedroom floor. The moment he struck the floor he already had his pistol pointed at the two thugs and he squeezed off two rounds instinctively aiming at each thug's heart in turn.  
  
But something which he hadn't contemplated was the fact that they too were trained as he was and as swiftly as he had burst his way into the room they had moved out of his line of fire.  
  
Jim quickly rolled into a crouching position, squeezing off another set of rounds at his two adversaries. He smiled warily as one of his bullets struck home, hitting Johnny's partner smugly between the eyes. The impact was so great that it flipped the thug off his feet and flung him out of the window, sending him spiraling down towards the front lawn.  
  
It happened so swiftly that Jim didn't even realize that only a minute had passed since he had started his ascent from the bottom of the stairs.  
  
He eyed his ammunition clip swiftly and assessed the situation. He had not time to reload his pistol and Johnny probably had a full clip left after his 'torture' of Eleanor. Jim couldn't be sure. He just had to take a chance.  
  
He leaped out from behind the end-table, squeezing off his final rounds at the unseen adversary, hoping to hit his target. Time seemed to slow down once again as the bullets traveled, seeking soft flesh to impact into, but instead of finding flesh, they instead found the solid wood of the trimming's of the bedroom wall. The splinters of the wood went flying into the air and hit Johnny.  
  
The sirens of the police armada was only a few blocks away by this time and Jim knew that it was now or never, he had to either risk his life by going out in the open and fighting his adversary man-to-man or risk dying like a coward while his beloved watched.  
  
Just as before, the instinct took over and his hand loosened it's grip on the pistol. The clatter of metal distinct on the wooden floor. Johnny took this as a sign of surrender and a sadistic grin spread across his facial features. It was finally over. He could leave this god-forsaken place and get the hell out of here.  
  
As Jim leaped out from his hiding place, Johnny did the same, but with his gun poised out in front of him, ready to fire at any moment.  
  
"I never caught your name hero, I like to put a name to a face before I blow it away." Johnny smiled his sadistic smile as he said this. Sweat was gleaming on his face.  
  
"Fuck you." Jim said simply.  
  
"Well Fuck You, say goodbye." Johnny said as he cocked the lever on his semi-automatic rifle.  
  
Just then Jim dived at him and knocked the rifle from his grip, sending it sprawling across the bedroom floor, in Eleanor's general direction. Jim hadn't seen her until that moment and a sickening feeling of despair hit him as he saw her bloodied features lay spread eagled on the floor. He doubled over in grief and the tears started streaming down his cheeks.  
  
"Ah, a weakling. Were you in love with this woman Fuck You?" Johnny asked Jim.  
  
Jim turned his head and looked Johnny straight in the eye, all the hatred of what had happened that evening came boiling to the surface. He balled his fists up into tight knots, the veins in his arms standing out in powerful contrast to the soft nature that he had possessed earlier that night while speaking to the very woman who lay half-dead across the room from him now.  
  
Johnny didn't expect the next blow. Jim hit him squarely on the jaw and spittle mixed with blood flew through the air, decorating Eleanor's wall with a new pattern. Johnny, apparently unfettered by this went on with his relentless guffawing directed at his opponent.  
  
"Still trying to be the hero?" He said half-out of breath and slightly chuckling through the broken mess off his mouth.  
  
"I'll make you eat every single one of those words." Jim said as he moved in swiftly for another punch.  
  
This hit Johnny squarely on the right eye, Jim was one of those fighters who put every last ounce of his power behind a hit and it was apparent that Johnny had felt it. The power of Jim's hit had properly jarred his brains and he was incoherent at what was going on around him for a moment, trying to assess his situation.  
  
What Jim didn't contemplate was the fact that Johnny was slowly but surely working his way around to where his rifle was laying. After Jim hit him once more with a powerful shot straight on the nose, leaving Johnny's face a bloody mess, Johnny swiped up the rifle and squeezed of a long burst of automatic fire in Jim's direction, ripping a clean spray right across Jim's chest.  
  
The two were so close to each other that Jim was literally punched off his feet by the automatic fire and thrown against the bedroom floor.  
  
As Jim lay against the wall, crumpled up and fighting for his life, flashes of images from his life appeared in his mind's eye. His childhood had been a happy one. One of his birthdays flashed by him. He had been Nine years old, all his friends surrounded him as he blew out the candles on his birthday cake. He remembered so vividly what he had wished for that day. He wanted, above anything else, to be as happy as his mommy and daddy. He remembered that up until tonight, his wish had come true.  
  
Other flashes swept by, a lecture, at the University. A student had asked him why he had chosen the works of Edgar Allen Poe to be their curriculum that semester. He couldn't remember exactly why, but the answer was staring him straight in the face. He was experiencing it at that moment. But he breathed his final breath before the answer dawned on him.  
  
"Qouth the Raven 'Nevermore'" – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe  
  
N/A I realize that there are no real direct references or whatever to The Crow here in the first chapter, but bear with me. Chapter two as you can guess is the beginning of the REAL story. For now, lemme know what you guys think of this so far. Comments and suggestions are welcome. Please, don't flame me. Anybody who flames, are basically degrading themselves, so spare yourself the humiliation. 


	2. Vivid Like a Dream

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 2 – Vivid Like a Dream  
  
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak of December;  
  
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
  
Eagerly I wished the morrow--vainly I had sought to borrow  
  
From the books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--  
  
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--  
  
Nameless here for evermore." – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe  
  
The Sirens were like a crescendo to everything that had just happened. An exclamation mark. Real.  
  
"Jesus, what the fuck happened here?" Detective Ramsey said as he got out of his patrol car and slammed the door.  
  
"It looks like someone made confetti out of these two perps" He scratched his neck and shook his head in awe.  
  
Detective Ramsey was a Veteran in the Boston Police Department. He was approaching his fifty eighth birthday. Retirement time. For fifty seven he was in remarkably good shape. The job kept him fit.  
  
"What are you waiting for you asswipes close down this area, I don't want anyone coming in or getting out" Two patrolmen jumped at the orders and rolled out police tape around the Sedan standing in the street. Another team arrived and started collecting evidence, making chalk outlines of the "victims" and helping the original two patrolmen to keep the bystanders from contaminating the crime scene.  
  
The road was blocked off from both sides in order to restrict any traffic from going by their way.  
  
Ramsey walked over to one of the investigators working on the evidence taking out a notepad.  
  
"What do we have here Gaines?" He asked curtly.  
  
"We have two perpetrators carrying military issue SMG Assault rifles. Definitely American. This one here – "he said, pointing to the heavy-set man "– is a well known mob assassin. His real name isn't known but he goes by the alias of Antonio. As you can see his brains are splattered all over the hood, so you must be asking how we identified him. It's simple really." He lifted a part of the fatigue shirt up at the neck and showed Ramsey the unmistakable trademark tattoo of the Italian.  
  
They had been searching for the assassin for more than 3 years, and so naturally they knew every detail about him.  
  
"What puzzles me though, is this –"Gaines lifted up the other part of the fatigue shirt and showed Ramsey the other tattoo. –"I've never seen something like this before. Have you, Paul?"  
  
Ramsey shook his head. As baffled as he was, something did seem familiar about the tattoo on Antonio's back. It definitely was one of the most intricate designs he had ever seen tattooed on skin. It was in the shape of an X. A snake intertwining between the different parts of it. But what made the image disturbing, was a single Raven, perched at the head of the X, staring mockingly down at the snake.  
  
Gaines walked over to the other perpetrator on the other side of the car.  
  
"This guy, we couldn't identify, but he has the same tattoo on his back."  
  
Ramsey scratched his white beard, deep in thought. He scribbled something in his notebook and nodded at Gaines as he walked away from this crime scene and through the front gate of the house of Eleanor Jones.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Ramsey chuckled as he saw a young rookie called Jackson come running down the stairs holding his mouth.  
  
"These rookies aren't as steadfast as we were in our young days." He said to no one in particular.  
  
He walked up the rest of the stairs and loosened his coat, letting it hang off his back.  
  
"You look smug." Police Chief Law observed from the end of the hall leading up to Eleanor Jones' bedroom.  
  
Ramsey shrugged and started walking towards his boss.  
  
"This is the second attack of it's kind in Six Months Detective Ramsey" Law said.  
  
"I know, I know Chief, and I'm working around the clock to find out who these guys are."  
  
"That's not good enough Paul, I expect better from you. You're the best our department has ever seen. That's why I put you on this case to begin with."  
  
"Dammit Jayce, we've had absolutely no concrete clues to move on in six months now, you know that."  
  
The use of their first names didn't unnerve either of them. They'd been friends since they were both rookies in the department.  
  
"Gaines informs me otherwise. He tells me you found this weird-ass tattoo on two of the perps downstairs' backs."  
  
Ramsey shrugged again and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then thought the better of it. He lifted up his hands in mock defeat and smiled at his employer.  
  
"Do you need a break from this case Paul?" Law asked, concern in his voice.  
  
"No, I'm fine boss, really." Ramsey kept the smile plastered on his face.  
  
Law just shrugged and stepped aside letting Ramsey pass.  
  
Ramsey stepped into a world of chaos. The entire room smelled of gunshots. There was blood, Eleanor's body lay spread eagled on the floor, covered in blood, but barely breathing. A medical team had covered her nakedness with a sheet and had her breathing through an oxygen mask.  
  
The other two people in the room were a mess. One lay with his back against the wall, ripped apart by SMG fire and the other was hanging by one leg from the window sill, bullet wound between the eyes.  
  
The entire bedroom floor was strewn with little pieces of glass from the mirror and the invocators had to move carefully not to disturb any potential evidence.  
  
"Detective, we have to move her now." One of the police men said as he saw Ramsey entering the room.  
  
"Have you gathered all the evidence that can be gathered from the area surrounding this woman as well as taken pictures of the area?"  
  
"Yes sir"  
  
"Go ahead"  
  
The medical team moved swiftly to carry Eleanor from the chaos that was her bedroom.  
  
"Did Miss Jones live alone?" Ramsey asked one of the investigators.  
  
"No sir, her mother lives with her. She hid in the basement when she heard someone at the front door."  
  
"Thanks for the info officer. Do you know where I can find her now? I'd like to ask her a couple of questions."  
  
The investigator shrugged and showed him towards one of the other bedrooms.  
  
"Good evening Ma'am, my name is Detective Paul Ramsey-"he flashed his badge as he entered her room "-I'm with the Boston Police Department."  
  
The elderly woman was ashen pale and was sitting on the bed, loose strands of hair dangling across her age ridden face.  
  
"It's too late..." She muttered to herself.  
  
"Yea I know, ma'am. One gentleman has already passed away. Do you know who I'm talking about?"  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes wild.  
  
"You don't understand. It's too late. They have taken everything away from us."  
  
Ramsey stepped back as the elder woman leaped into his arms.  
  
"Hold it lady, I don't know what you're talking about but there's no need to get so up-close-and-personal with me."  
  
The elder Mrs. Jones just turned around and walked to the window, apparently not hearing a word that Ramsey had just said.  
  
She stared out the window and muttered to herself in the same despairing tones.  
  
"All hope is lost. They have taken it all."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Ramsey fell into his office chair with a listless sigh. The entire week's investigations had turned up nothing and Law had decided to brand the case 'Unsolved'. There was nothing he could do now but try to go on with his life. For the last year he had been wrapped into a wild goose-chase.  
  
Starting with an attempted murder on a doctor exactly 12 months before, the case had just escalated, leaving one body after the other.  
  
The funeral for James was as ordinary as any other. His brother had flown in from New York to attend the service, but other than that, nobody else showed. It was only James' brother and Ramsey and the priest. The snow coated the entire graveyard and their shoes made a squelching sound as they walked along the pallbearers to the gravesite.  
  
Ramsey sat in his chair thinking of the heroic boyfriend. What was he thinking? Charging a bunch of highly armed criminals with a mere handgun? Suicide!  
  
He shook his head and got up out of his chair. He looked at his final report laying on the table dismally and turned to walk out the door.  
  
As he took his coat, switched off the light and closed the door behind him he couldn't help but wonder what the old lady was going on about.  
  
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or  
  
devil!--  
  
"Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,  
  
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--  
  
On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--  
  
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"  
  
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."" – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N I just thought I'd list some of the information resources (not counting Edgar Allen Poe's Poem) to give credit where it's due.  
  
Boston USA – www.bostonusa.com – Travel information, specifically about weather and recreation. United States Postal Service – Do the postal workers really get violent? *hides* Harvard Web Site – www.harvard.edu – General information. 


	3. Time

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 3 – Time  
  
DEPARTED to the judgment,  
A mighty afternoon;  
Great clouds like ushers leaning,  
Creation looking on.  
  
The flesh surrendered, cancelled,  
The bodiless begun;  
Two worlds, like audiences, disperse  
And leave the soul alone. – Emily Dickenson  
  
Death. The answer loomed. It was just beyond his grasp. But he had it again. His mind raced. What's going on? He struggled frantically. It was dark, darker than anything he could remember in his life. Then another answer to unasked question struck him.  
  
They buried me alive. It's impossible. Why would they do something like that. He was trying to make sense of it all when he heard something in the depths of his mind.  
  
"I just thought I'd call to tell you I love you Eleanor Jones". He heard his own voice echo in his mind.  
  
"Oh my James, that is rather sudden don't you think?" Eleanor's sweet voice followed up his own. His mind raced.  
  
Eleanor. Where is Eleanor?  
  
"Not sudden at all Eleanor, in fact, I want to marry you". His own voice came through loud and clear again.  
  
He became even more frantic. Where the hell is Eleanor?  
  
"Let me think about it James" Eleanor's voice came through again with mocking clarity.  
  
He finally lost it and started banging at the lid of the coffin. Suddenly, to his own surprise the entire wooden structure heaved and he felt it crack under his fists.  
  
What the hell is going on here? He thought to himself. Then he thought of Eleanor and his rage was fuelled anew. He pushed up with all his strength and the entire ceiling portion of his grave gave way.  
  
The rush of air almost made him fall back into his grave as he clawed his way out onto the snow covered ground surrounding his grave site.  
  
As he turned around to survey his surroundings, his eyes fell on a solid granite slab planted firmly on the ground and as he read out the inscriptions it confirmed the fact that he was buried.  
  
He looked down at his tattered clothing and noticed that he was a mess. His black suit was torn to shreds due to the decay. He ripped off the jacket and started walking towards to the exit of the graveyard.  
  
As he walked by a grave he saw a curious creature gawking back at him. A bird, black as night. A crow, he thought to himself. Brilliant.  
  
The squeaking of the hinges on the graveyard's gate sent shivers down his spine as he stopped out into the gravel road leading into the graveyard.  
  
The crow fluttered it's wings as it flew over to the post of the gate and cried it's lonely cry after Jim.  
  
"Yea, you too." He croaked and walked into the cold streets of Boston.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The neighborhood had changed since he was there. Rubble was strewn everywhere and nearly all the houses in the entire area had been abandoned. Houses he recognized were shadows of their once beautiful semblances. Boarded up windows. Front doors covered with nailed up wood. Broken windows, dirt where grass and gardens used to be.  
  
A cat hissed at him as he walked past it where it was sitting perched on a tipped over trashcan.  
  
"Get lost you mangy animal." He croaked at the cat. It felt strange to talk, like he had had a cold.  
  
In the distance he heard loud banging as the yearly festival marched through the streets. He slumped up to what used to be his home. A house left to him by his father. It had been in the family for years. The Bradbury's were a wealthy family and they wanted only the best for their offspring.  
  
As he walked around the rear of the house he heard voices from the yard next door. He looked over the fence and saw a couple of homeless people sitting around a trashcan with fire spewing over the top. This really is a sorry sight. He thought to himself.  
  
He found his backdoor open. Looking at it caused another painful memory of that night.  
  
He was coming out of the door with his pistol, ready to shoot anything that moved. He remembered the screams in the distance and the two gunmen out in the street. The chalk outlines of their bodies had long since faded, but the stench of them still hung in the air.  
  
Walking into the kitchen from the backdoor the first thing he noticed was all the trash on the floor. It was like somebody else had been living there. He slumped through the kitchen and into the main hall. The carpet had rotted from the rain that soaked through the ceiling.  
  
A fire burned in his old study. He walked towards the light and found two homeless people lying on the floor, asleep. Anger welled up inside him as he walked closer to them.  
  
"Get out! Get out of my house you worthless pieces of crap!" he shouted and the two homeless grabbed what little possessions they had and ran towards the kitchen.  
  
Everything had been carried away during his absence. All that remained from his former life was a single mirror hanging on the wall.  
  
Perfect, he thought. The only thing that could cause any more bad luck.  
  
Another painful memory struck him. He was rummaging through his things in the study, looking for a weapon. Panic racing through his mind. Eleanor.  
  
Sudden anger flared up inside him again as her name came into his mind and he crashed his fist into the mirror.  
  
"I will kill the man who did this to us...to me." He looked at himself in the broken mirror and looked at his hands. A big piece of the mirror was sticking out one of his knuckles. He looked at it curiously and pulled it out as if it was nothing more than a splinter.  
  
With shock he saw that the wound in his hand healed itself. A smile came to his lips and he brushed his long blonde hair out of his eyes as he contemplated the possibilities.  
  
"Yes, Johnny will pay. I will find him no matter what it takes." He turned on his heel and walked down the long hallway to his former bedroom. An old closet stood in the corner of the room which he pulled open revealing some outdoors clothes which he usually wore when he went out camping. It consisted of fatigues, a t-shirt and a hunting jacket.  
  
As he pulled them on he noticed something else in the room. Scattered on the floor was one of Eleanor's make-up kits. He thought back to the night before the killings. They went out on a date, and because they were in a hurry Eleanor had to bring her makeup kit with her to save time before they left. She had forgotten it there.  
  
He slowly picked it up and looked at the little brush lying on the inside of the case. Something he once saw on television flashed into his mind. Mimes. They were sometimes seen as vengeful types, the man on television had said. He felt vengeful tonight.  
  
He walked back to his study and started applying the make-up to his face. When his face was pure white he looked at himself, grinning.  
  
"It's missing a little something." He mused and took out the black mascara. Applying dark outlines around his eyes and tear shaped lines underneath and above his eyes completed his new look.  
  
"Much better". He said to himself. "This is the way a vengeful mime would look like."  
  
As quickly as he had walked into the house, he stalked out and wandered back onto the snow covered streets.  
  
He knew his next move. He had to find out what happened on that night and the only way he could accomplish that is to go somewhere where he could find information freely.  
  
The library, the biggest source of info in the entire city.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The telephone rang on his desk. The ringing was like an echo in his ears. As if it was coming from a distant place and not across the room.  
  
He stood up and walked over from the couch where he had been reading the paper. He looked at the clock on the wall between the window and the bookcase. It was one am. Who could be calling at this hour? He wondered and picked up the phone out of the cradle.  
  
"Hullo?" He said into the receiver.  
  
"Paul Ramsey?" A raspy voice asked.  
  
"Yes this is he" Ramsey replied.  
  
"Come to the Lambert Cemetery in 15 minutes if you want to know what happened that evening at the Jones' Residence."  
  
"Who is this?"  
  
Click-  
  
The telephone went dead and all Ramsey could hear was a dial tone. It must be a trap of some sort. He reasoned with himself. And why would anybody be calling me about this now?  
  
He'd been retired for six months. Chief Law allowed him to go after a very serious argument and the embitterment of their friendship. They hadn't talked in about as long as he had been retired.  
  
He figured he had no choice. This person on the phone sounded serious and what did he have to lose anyway? He walked out of his study and removed his coat from the coat hanger at the door and stepped out into the cold December breeze.  
  
The night sky was eerie, as if a storm was brewing, but it was dead calm. The silence before the storm has always been considered to be a bad omen. He felt a chill run through him. Not from the cold, but from something else. Something he could not quite place...yet.  
  
Lambert Cemetery wasn't very far from his apartment. It was a couple of blocks' walks at the very least. He tucked his arms under his armpits, hugging himself from the cold and set off down the street wondering what this could be about.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
He arrived at the half ajar gate of Lambert Cemetery about 10 minutes later. The hinges squeaked as he pushed it open to walk inside.  
  
"I hate graveyards." He muttered to himself and walked on along the path leading past graves and coliseums alike.  
  
The wind whistled around corners and the trees rustled and it gave the whole eerie night a whole new edge. Ramsey looked up into the sky and saw the source of the eerie atmosphere. The moon, it was huge in the night sky. He had never seen it so huge before in this part of the country.  
  
It scared the hell out of him.  
  
He thought for a moment about shouting out to his caller, to let him know that he was here, but the police officer side of himself cautioned him and he kept walking into the final resting place of so many of the residents of Boston.  
  
Something caught his attention, which he hadn't noticed on entering the property. Something seemed wrong with a grave on the east side of the graveyard. He cautiously walked towards it, trying not to draw too much attention to himself in the case that the mysterious caller was indeed around and possibly dangerous.  
  
At Fifty Nine Paul Ramsey was not as fit as he used to be and without a weapon – oh man I should have brought a pistol – he was defenseless.  
  
As he approached the odd looking grave he finally realized what was wrong with it. It was empty and from the looks of it, somebody didn't dig it up, somebody dug out of there.  
  
"That's impossible!" he gasped.  
  
"Small minds." He heard a raspy voice behind him say.  
  
Ramsey spun around on his heel in search of the unexpected yet expected visitor, finding nothing and nobody.  
  
"Who-who's there?" He stammered.  
  
The visitor chuckled dryly.  
  
"Not who, my friend, but what?" He heard it say.  
  
Ramsey turned around again and looked down at the gravestone.  
  
"Here lies James Bradbury. Beloved brother and co-worker." Below the usual printed information was a poem by Edgar Allen Poe. The Raven.  
  
"Touching isn't it?" The voice asked again once he ascertained that Ramsey had finished reading the poem.  
  
"I remember this man." Ramsey said. "He was the boyfriend, he got killed that night."  
  
"Very good Mister Ramsey" The voice said gleefully.  
  
"What does this mean?"  
  
"It means...the game is afoot."  
  
Ramsey stood in silence for a while and finally realized that his mysterious malefactor had disappeared again.  
  
"The game is afoot." He repeated to himself and started walking toward the gate.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N Sorry for the late update. Been busy these last few weeks. I'll try put up new chapters often. R & R please!  
  
A side note, as you may have noticed, I use fictional names in some cases so don't mind the false names and such, there's a reason I choose the names, such as the cemetery's name, which will be revealed later on. 


	4. The Plot Thickens

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 4 – The Plot Thickens  
  
I DIED for beauty, but was scarce  
Adjusted in the tomb,  
When one who died for truth was lain  
In an adjoining room.  
  
He questioned softly why I failed?  
"For beauty," I replied.  
"And I for truth,—the two are one;  
We brethren are," he said.  
  
And so, as kinsmen met a night,  
We talked between the rooms,  
Until the moss had reached our lips,  
And covered up our names. – Emily Dickinson  
  
Things couldn't get any worse. At the library Jim discovered newspaper reports about the attack on Eleanor's house, his and three other peoples' deaths. They never found Johnny.  
  
He also discovered that they mentioned nothing about what happened to Eleanor. Was she dead or was she alive? Maybe they didn't say anything because of political reasons. Eleanor's father was after all an important figure in the government of the United Kingdom before he died four years earlier.  
  
He had to know. He just had to know!  
  
And now he was on his way to his next destination. One he had seen in one of the many newspaper articles that he read. Club Slythe, which was on the other side of the river. The police had connected the crime that had happened there, to the one at Eleanor's house. They didn't mention what the connection was, but he was going to find out.  
  
He moved through the neighborhoods with a speed such as he had never known, and his energy didn't leave him. With each step he took, he felt stronger than before. His heart was racing; he knew that if he found something at the Club then he could possibly find Eleanor.  
  
As he reached the rear door of the club he noticed a couple of big men standing on either side. One was smoking and the other was busy polishing a particularly large machete. They both had something in common, something which made Jim sure that he was on the right track. He read in the newspaper that the two guys he killed out in the street that night each had strange tattoos on their lower arms. An X, with a bird perched at the top, taunting a snake which intertwined between the different parts of the X.  
  
They were minions, he figured. And these two are minions too. But who are they working for?  
  
He didn't want to stick around and hope they mentioned something. Instead he leaped from his hiding place and into the light directly in front of the two bouncers.  
  
"Hello boys" He said and they both jumped up in surprise.  
  
"Ho ho, look at the painted up freak Vinny." The bouncer with the Machete said to his partner.  
  
"Yeah hehe, he looks like some sort of fucked up mime or something, eh Joey?" Vinny replied.  
  
"Hmmm Vinny and Joey. Didn't your mommas teach you any manners?" Jim said, grinning slyly.  
  
"Who does this prick think he is?" Joey asked, his eyes flashing dangerously, to match the flash of his Machete.  
  
"I'm your worst nightmare." Jim said and leaped at Joey, as gracefully as a panther.  
  
Joey lost his footing as Jim landed on him and fell backwards. Vinny was on Jim's back in a heartbeat. Jim felt a searing pain at the back of his neck as a pair of Brass Knucks struck him continuously.  
  
He threw Vinny off his back and punched Joey's nose until it started streaming with blood. This angered the bouncer and he pushed Jim off with a renewed vigour.  
  
The blood streaming down his face in the dim light of the dark alley, made Joey's features look somewhat demonic. He armed himself with his Machete again which had slipped from his grip when Jim pounced him and the two adversaries stood facing each other, each with their own particular bloodlust in their eyes.  
  
"I'm gonna kill you, you prick!" Joey screamed as he charged at Jim, Machete raised high. Jim jumped nimbly aside and chopped Joey against his ear, which promptly began to bleed at the hard, blunt blow of Jim's flat hand.  
  
"Touché, Joseph." Jim said and beckoned his assailant to strike at him again.  
  
Joey didn't have to be told twice and he charged at Jim again, but just as Jim wanted to strike at him again, Joey feinted and sliced Jim's arm open.  
  
Jim let out a mock cry, crouching and cursing, holding his bleeding arm.  
  
Joey and Vinny laughed at this display of pain.  
  
As if they were laughing at something else, and not him, Jim rose and joined the laughter, releasing his arm and showing them that there was no wound.  
  
"You feint like a sissy boy Joseph." Jim said and as fast as he had moved on his journey to the Club, he was behind Joey, holding his own Machete at his throat.  
  
"Any last message to your little friend here before I gut him?" Jim said to Vinny.  
  
"Fuck it!" Vinny shouted and ran into the club's door.  
  
Joey spluttered and tried to breath through his blood coated face. Begging for his life. Jim just laughed sadistically and started slicing Joey like a butcher would its slab of meat.  
  
Screams echoed through the night, going on for a long time before they stopped. Jim finally felt a bit better.  
  
He entered the club, chasing after his next victim. The not so charismatic, Vinny.  
  
As he walked up the stairs leading up to the Manager's office, he grinded the Machete off the railings. It made a clang-clang sound, every time it struck a pipe. He could hear the terrified screams of Vinny and the Manager and whoever else was up there. There was no way out. They knew it, and he knew it.  
  
"Please don't kill me!" The man in the expensive Giovanni suit pleaded with Jim as he walked into the room.  
  
Jim cocked his head to one side, looking slightly concerned.  
  
"There's one way you can get out of this alive boss-man." Jim said.  
  
"Just name it, I'll do anything!" He whimpered.  
  
"Who are you working for?" Jim asked.  
  
"I don't know man. I get my orders from a middle man! He's the only one who will be able to tell you who our employer is. Hi-his details are over there, in my dairy."  
  
Jim walked over to the desk and flipped nonchalantly through the Manager's dairy and tore out a page.  
  
"Thank you." Jim said and threw the Machete with expert aim across the room.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Chief Inspector Jayce Law of the Boston Police Department walked into the two storey luxury home in disgust.  
  
"Doesn't the city council take care of these old houses? I mean we might use them again in the future."  
  
The rookie cop on crowd control duty just shrugged and shook his head.  
  
"Where's the bum who said he was assaulted?" Law asked the cop.  
  
"He's right in there sir." Law walked into the large living room after hearing this and looked around at the shoddy state of the house. Paint was peeling off the walls, old rain soaked and rotten furniture lay strewn across the floor. There were holes in the roof where the rain had obviously seeped through.  
  
He walked over to the corner of the room, near a broken window where a small bum was sitting, being questioned by another Inspector.  
  
"I'll take it from here Bravura." He said to the Inspector who stood up and walked out of the room.  
  
Law picked up an old chair and set it up straight on it's legs then sat down on it facing the bum.  
  
"What's your name kid?" He asked.  
  
"Max..." The man said.  
  
"Max, tell me what happened."  
  
"I was just sitting here with Bobby when all of a sudden this guy walks in the backdoor and shouts at and beat me, chasing me from the room."  
  
Law pondered a moment, scribbling in his notebook.  
  
"You know we wouldn't normally assist people of your...stature in the city. What makes this case so special?" The Chief Inspector enquired.  
  
"Mister, I dunno what happened. Alls I know is that that guy was not normal. He barely touched me but I flew almost across the fricken room man!."  
  
"Calm down kid. Go on, tell me what happened next." Law said impatiently.  
  
"He-he walked down the hallway. It looked like he knew this place, but I ain't seen him before, I been living here a long time yaknow. We, me 'n Bobby, we..."  
  
"Get to the point kid..." Law exerted his impatient aire even more.  
  
"Right, right...we were standing over there, outside in the backyard, waitin' for him to go away, when we heard him talking to himself and smashing up things inside the house. It was like he was in pain or something, but when he walked back out he didn't have a scratch on him."  
  
"What makes you so certain that the stuff he was bashing around could injure him?" Law asked.  
  
"He broke a mirror mister. The one in that room over there!"  
  
"Anything else you wanna tell me kid?" Law asked as he stood up.  
  
"Nah mister...can I go now? I gotta go find Bobby."  
  
'Yea sure kid." Law walked out of the room and down the small hallway, into the study.  
  
The room looked no better than the lounge. An old rotten desk was turned over, laying against the wall, the legs were broken off, it's obvious use would have been firewood. What made this case so special? The answer was staring him right in the face. This guy was obviously a nut job. The mirror was shattered, and there was blood everywhere.  
  
Why then would the bum say that the guy didn't have a scratch on him? He didn't have time to contemplate the answer. The same cop he spoke to when he came into the house, rushed in, out of breath.  
  
"Chief, report just came in from HQ. There's been a grave robbery. They want you to check it out."  
  
"Goddammit..." Law muttered under his breath.  
  
"Alright, I'm on my way."  
  
Law walked out the door and out into the front yard where his Oldsmobile was waiting.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"No sir, Chief Inspector Law is currently out on an investigation. Do you want me to take a message?" The operator said coolly over the phone.  
  
"Nah it's ok Lucy. I'll try again later." Ramsey said.  
  
He placed the phone back in its cradle and sat on his sleeper couch, running his fingers through his thinning gray hair.  
  
It was almost two AM. He had been in the graveyard for nearly half an hour, trying to find out just what the hell was going on. When he didn't find anything he finally decided to go home. He figured he'd phone Law and find out what he makes of this. Even though their friendship wasn't on the best of terms, he was sure Law would love to here about this.  
  
Now he sat, thinking about his next move. He'd go to bed and sleep on it, he decided.  
  
The phone rang. It was Bravura. Ramsey's old partner when he was still a blue.  
  
"Ramsey, you gotta get down here old man. We're reopening your old case."  
  
"Which one?" Ramsey chuckled.  
  
"The Raven murders." Bravura said. The case had formally become known as the Raven murders after a comment Ramsey had made the night of the attack of Eleanor Jones' house.  
  
"Where are you?" Ramsey asked.  
  
"Club Slythe...we need you down here Paul." Bravura sounded panicked.  
  
"I'll be there soon." Ramsey assured his old partner and hung up.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N Nothing special to add here but a thanks to my wonderful girlfriend for inspiring me even more for this story.  
  
There's a big plot twist coming soon, so keep your eyes peeled!  
  
-NF 


	5. Stripped Bones

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 5 – Stripped Bones  
  
I LIKE a look of agony,  
Because I know it 's true;  
Men do not sham convulsion,  
Nor simulate a throe.  
  
The eyes glaze once, and that is death.  
Impossible to feign  
The beads upon the forehead  
By homely anguish strung. – Emily Dickinson  
  
"Oh the sweet mystery of death. It is like an old dusty book, just waiting to be opened. It is like an old instrument, waiting to be played. It is like a...I'm sorry Mr. Davies, am I boring you?" Georgio Valentino asked his employee.  
  
"N-not at all boss. P-please go on." The trembling little Italian bodyguard wasn't use to such an intimidating employer. He was only recently employed here under the orders of The Order.  
  
"Thank You. Now as I was saying..." The telephone started ringing. Valentino gave it a funny look, as if the thing was gonna jump at him at any second, then hesitantly picked it up out of it's cradle.  
  
"This is Georgio Valentino, this better be good." He said impatiently.  
  
"Do you know how painful it is to die Mr. Valentino?" Came a menacing voice across the line.  
  
"Who is this?" Valentino shouted into the phone with rage. His bodyguard turned his back as if to walk away.  
  
"Where you going you dumb fuck?" The bodyguard winced and stopped in his tracks.  
  
"My, my Georgio, what a filthy mouth. Maybe I should come wash it out with some soap. What do you say?" The menacing voice sounded half-serious.  
  
"What the fuck do you want you sicko?" The half-Italian crime boss was getting incredibly impatient.  
  
"Hmmm, what do I want? How about a fancy sports car, maybe a million dollars in the bank, world peace. Nah let's play a game cupid."  
  
"You gotta be kidding. I don't play games with pricks." Valentino slammed the phone down.  
  
He got up out of his chair and paced the study of his Victorian Mansion. The telephone rang again. Valentino looked at it as if it was a snake which would strike at him if he dared touch it.  
  
"Aren't you gonna get that boss?" The wimpy bodyguard asked.  
  
Valentino just shot a glare in his direction and the bodyguard immediately understood that if he kept this up he would end up at the bottom of the river with cement shoes.  
  
The half-Italian slowly reached for the phone and picked it up out of the cradle, holding it only with two fingers, as if it was contaminated.  
  
"That wasn't nice, Georgio." Came the same menacing voice again and Valentino felt Goosebumps rise all over his body. He wasn't easily intimidated, but something about this person made him shit scared.  
  
"Look out the window..." The voice instructed. Hesitantly Valentino pulled aside the expensive curtain and peered outside. A red beam blinded him as he looked through the window into the night.  
  
"That my friend, is a LAW Anti-Tank Missile Launcher with a customized laser-site. I picked it up from the local Radio Shack, what do you think?"  
  
Valentino whimpered and pulled open the drawer of his desk, ripping out a .45 Special handgun and fumbling for bullets to put in the chambers. He was shaking badly and the bullets fell on the carpet.  
  
"A little handgun won't help you Georgio." The voice came again.  
  
"What do you want?!" Valentino shouted into the receiver.  
  
"Come outside, so we can talk. I won't kill you, I promise, at least not yet. If you don't, I'll blow up your Mansion and kill everyone you've ever known and loved."  
  
Valentino wiped sweat off his brow and stammered "Yes, Alright".  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"Jesus, it looks like a fuckin' butchery." Ramsey said to his old partner.  
  
"If you think this is bad, wait till you see what's inside. It's a real mess up there." Bravura said while holding a handkerchief to his mouth.  
  
"Do you guys have any idea who did this?" Ramsey asked.  
  
"Not yet, but we found a signature of some sort. It looks like the guy who did this really enjoyed this. Have a look over here." Bravura led Ramsey a little further down the alleyway and they stopped in front of the wall next to a dumpster. Ramsey's stomach recoiled at what he saw. In his entire life as a Homicide Detective, he'd never seen something as grotesque as this.  
  
The entire wall was covered in entrails and blood.  
  
"Holy shit, is this guy a fuckin artist or what? What is that?" Ramsey tried to hold his food down.  
  
"One of our forensics people says it's a Crow. It looks like whoever did this, took pride in his work, it's like he wanted this thing to make an impact on whoever saw it. Like a message of some sort." Bravura explained.  
  
They turned around and started walking back towards the backdoor of the club.  
  
"Paul, this guy was alive up to the last minute of this...artful endeavor. I can't imagine how much main he must have gone through. It doesn't even matter if he was the most dangerous criminal on this planet, nobody deserves something like this." After he said this Bravura couldn't hold it in any longer and ran to a nearby trashcan, puking convulsively inside it.  
  
Ramsey looked at his old partner and then walked inside where a couple of cops were standing around discussing the crime. He smiled wanly at them and then walked up the stairs to the office where Law was standing over one of the bodies.  
  
"Paul..." Law said with a slight nod.  
  
"Jayce..." Ramsey returned the nod.  
  
The mutual respect was still there even though they were no longer close friends.  
  
"Thanks for coming Paul, jeez this is a bloodbath." Law said. The entire room was drenched in blood. From wall to floor, even the ceiling was covered in blood.  
  
"No problem Jayce, I needed to talk to you anyway, but tell me first, what the hell happened here?" Ramsey looked at his old friend with a professional edge in his eyes. Law saw this and didn't hesitate.  
  
"Some bum heard horrendous screaming coming from this building and called us, we came out here and found this. We still don't know what happened. The only reason we called you in is because of this..." Law pointed at a severed arm splayed across the desk. It had an oddly familiar tattoo on it.  
  
"Raven..." Ramsey said.  
  
"Exactly." Law replied and then led Ramsey out of the office.  
  
"Jayce, in all my years as a cop I've never seen something as bad as this." Ramsey stammered.  
  
"I know, me too." Law said solemnly. "What do you make of all this?"  
  
"Looks to me like a Revenge Massacre. Someone was out to kill these guys for what they did to them." Ramsey observed.  
  
"Yeah I think so too. What did you want to talk to me about?" Law asked.  
  
"I just got back from the Lambert Graveyard about an hour ago, found some weird shit down there." Ramsey said.  
  
"We were there before we came here, we must have just missed each other. Whoever stole that corpse is seriously sick in the head." Law said.  
  
"I don't think it was stolen Jayce."  
  
"What are you saying then? Did the thing just dig it's own way out and start walking around in downtown Boston?" Law asked. When Ramsey just looked at him and didn't reply Law threw up his hands in despair.  
  
"You're fucking crazy, you know that Ramsey? The dead are walking Boston, yeah right."  
  
Ramsey just kept staring at Law who abruptly turned to walk away.  
  
"Go home Paul, you're obviously suffering from Insomnia or something. The dead are walking Boston my ass." Law got into his car and started driving away.  
  
Ramsey just stared after his old friend and decided to go home as Law suggested.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"Heart of stone, head of bone." Jim sniggered as Valentino whimpered next to him in the vintage Rolls Royce.  
  
"Tell me Georgio, have you always been this chicken shit or was it a recent acquirement?" Jim asked mockingly.  
  
"Fuck you." Georgio muttered.  
  
"Now, I'm gonna ask you again, who the fuck was that prick who broke into Eleanor Jones' house one year ago and attacked her and that guy they mentioned in the papers?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about you fucking moron!" Valentino spat.  
  
"Wrong answer." Jim reached across and snapped one of Valentino's fingers off.  
  
The half-Italian mob boss screamed in pain and terror.  
  
"Last chance asshole, who was he?"  
  
"Fuck man, I give, I give. His name is Johnny Lang. He's a bounty hunter. We hired him to...acquire something from your little girlfriend." Jim cocked his head at this. Did this guy know? He knew too much.  
  
"Thank you, you dickhead. Now tell me, where is he?" Jim asked.  
  
"Last I heard he was somewhere in Europe. After that night and you fucking things up, he took the...object and retired to a wealthy life in a Villa somewhere in Rome. More than that I don't know. Now let me go, you have no use for me anymore." Valentino struggled in his bonds.  
  
"You're right, I don't." Jim grinned and put his foot flat on the gas pedal and sped down the curving road. Valentino screamed, knowing what was going on. The car swerved around a corner at high speed and bright lights loomed from ahead. The car picked up speed and as the two vehicles approached each other the two engines reached a crescendo in the quiet night sky. The silence shattered as the two cars collided. The impact was so great that the gas tank of the Rolls ignited and exploded, enveloping both cars in the blaze.  
  
Jim kicked out the door and climbed from the driver's seat, smiling as his body healed itself from all burn wounds.  
  
"Time to play stow-away" He chuckled to himself and started walking towards the dock.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N R & R as usual please. 


	6. Enigma

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 6 – Enigma  
  
AFRAID? Of whom am I afraid?  
Not death; for who is he?  
The porter of my father's lodge  
As much abasheth me.  
  
Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing  
That comprehendeth me  
In one or more existences  
At Deity's decree.  
  
Of resurrection? Is the east  
Afraid to trust the morn  
With her fastidious forehead?  
As soon impeach my crown! – Emily Dickinson  
  
Ramsey pulled his coat tightly around him, trying to keep the rain out, but failing in the attempt. He was soaked from head to toe. He had arrived in Rome the day before, the Boston Police had found conclusive evidence that the perpetrator they were chasing was on his way here. He would work together with the Italian Police to track him down.  
  
After identifying the man in the car wreck as Georgio Valentino, a well respected Italian Mafia member and also from native Rome, they knew that foul play was involved. It had been two days since the car crash so the guy they were chasing had to already be here. They connected Valentino with this perp through the same symbol in the mafia boss' study. Valentino's bodyguard had been strung up against the ceiling and the crow symbol was drawn around the body in blood. His stomach still churned at the memory of it.  
  
He walked along the cobbled pavement towards the ancient-looking building with 'Polizia' printed on a sign above the door. A man was standing outside under the roof slightly sticking out in front of the door in a rain slicker. He was smoking, keeping his eyes warily on Ramsey as he approached.  
  
"Ciao.." The officer nodded at Ramsey as the older man walked past him and opened the door. The office was like an ant's nest. There were people everywhere; running between desks; telephones were ringing; criminals were sitting lined up on a bench waiting to be booked, other prisoners were in cells.  
  
Ramsey asked the police officer at the front desk where the chief of the police station was. His Italian was fluent, as was his German and Vietnamese. He had served in the US Military and during skirmishes he had learned the languages of the countries he was in.  
  
"You may follow this aisle and go just around the corner Mr. Ramsey. Lt. Fabioz is in the big office at the end of the hall, he is expecting you." The man said in Italian.  
  
Ramsey thanked him and walked towards the chief's office.  
  
"Ah Mister Ramsey, so pleased to meet you." Fabioz said as Ramsey entered.  
  
"Same here." Ramsey replied.  
  
"Your superior has informed me of your business in Rome. But tell me, in your own words, why are you here?" Fabioz had a menacing look in his eyes. Ramsey decided he couldn't trust this man, so he only relayed minor details to the Lieutenant.  
  
"You have our full support Mr. Ramsey." The little man smiled and extended his hand to Ramsey. Ramsey reluctantly shook it and stood up again. Fabioz walked with him back to the front door where Ramsey walked back out into the rain again.  
  
He had no leads, he knew that. Best to start at the source he decided and walked to the nearest telephone booth. The rain was pouring and it was a comfort to be inside the old telephone booth. Since he didn't trust Fabioz, he looked up the information he needed in the telephone directory.  
  
He found what he was looking for almost immediately and inserted a coin into the payphone's slot. As he punched in the numbers from the telephone directory a cold chill went through him, as if it was Déjà vu.  
  
"Ciao Mr. Fabrezio, my name is Paul Ramsey, I'm a Private Investigator from Boston in the United States, I was wondering if you could help me."  
  
"Mr. Ramsey how can I help you?" Antonio Fabrezio's cool voice came drifting across the line.  
  
"I was wondering if you've heard or seen anything...unusual in your ring of respectable businesses in the last one to two days." Ramsey asked.  
  
"Hmmm, nothing I can think of right now. Is there any way I can get in contact with you if something does come up Mr. Ramsey?" Fabrezio replied.  
  
"Yes, you can reach me at my hotel." Ramsey gave Fabrezio the hotel's number and his room number then hung up. He tried a couple of other contacts, but turned up no results either. He decided to go to his hotel and wait things out. As he walked out of the booth, the telephone began ringing.  
  
He picked it up.  
  
"Hello..." He said.  
  
"Mr. Ramsey, I see you've come this far. Enjoying the game?" The familiar husky voice asked.  
  
"So far. Are you here?"  
  
"I'm everywhere." The voice replied.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"Who I am is not important, yet, but you will learn in time."  
  
"So what's next then?" Ramsey asked, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief.  
  
"Go to your hotel, as you planned to do before I called, and wait for my call. I will call again in one hour." Ramsey heard a click and the phone went dead.  
  
He took this as his cue and left the phone booth. The hands on his watch showed 4:15 PM. The rain clouds obscured the sun and gave the entire city an impenetrable dark veil. It was like it was night. When he reached his hotel he asked the clerk if there were any messages for him. Law had left a message by phone, asking him to call him as soon as he got back from the police station.  
  
Ramsey went to his room and punched in the international dialing code for the US followed by Law's home number. It was early morning in Boston, Law would probably still be at home, he thought.  
  
The telephone was ringing. The answering machine on the other side came to life.  
  
"Hi, Jayce, I got your message. Just got back from the boys in blue's office, they say they will give their full cooperation. Thanks again for letting me handle this on my own. Gimme a call when you get in. Seeya." Ramsey hung up the phone and went over to the desk where the drinks he ordered stood. He poured himself a bourbon and sat down on the bed, starting to go over the evidence he had so far.  
  
What could he conclude about the guy who was doing all this killing. This guy had a thing for crows, almost a passion. It was ironic how this guy had come to a cultural center like Rome which was famous for its art.  
  
The phone jumped to life. The jingle of the antique phone almost made Ramsey jump. He walked over and picked up the phone.  
  
"Mr. Ramsey, listen carefully." The familiar husky voice said.  
  
"I'm listening." Ramsey replied.  
  
"You've probably figured out by now that the person you are chasing is not normal. His name is James Bradbury. You probably recognize the name from the Raven Murders as you like to call it."  
  
"But how is that possible?" Ramsey asked.  
  
"Mr. Ramsey the world as you know it is only a veil for what lies beneath the surface. There is a war and as with all wars there are a number of people involved who are there to battle the evil of this world. The case you've been following is a small part of this war. The corporation behind the attacks on yourself and your fiancé was against the normal set of rules laid out for this war. It was a violation of a sacred code."  
  
"Hold on, hold on. What's this about wars and sacred codes?" Ramsey demanded.  
  
"James Bradbury is one of our agents, he doesn't realize it but he is a part of this war. But as I said before he is not normal. Within the crow, lies his power. It makes him immortal. But like James, there are others. The evil ones. The snakes. They want nothing less than to destroy every living soul in this universe and claim supreme power."  
  
Ramsey sat in silence, unable to believe what he was hearing.  
  
"You wanted to know who I am." The husky voice said.  
  
"I am one of many mentors. We are each assigned to watch over an agent. From the shadows we make sure that they follow the right path and do not stray. If the power of the crow falls into the hands of the snakes, then we are all doomed."  
  
"What does this have to do with me?" Ramsey asked.  
  
"You, Mr. Ramsey have been chosen to be invited into the fold. To help the Ramalah in it's ongoing struggle against the Xanado."  
  
"That's what the X stands for on those tattoos, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes Mr. Ramsey. They are the minions of the Xanado. Once they are marked, they are His forever. Even after death."  
  
"Where do I find James?" Ramsey asked his new Malefactor.  
  
"Find Johnny Lang and you will find James Bradbury."  
  
The phone went dead again and Ramsey was left standing in the hotel room with a little more certainty.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Meanwhile in the countryside to the north of the great city, Jim was already on his way to Johnny's villa. If only he knew what was coming for him, Jim thought and a grim smile spread across his lips.  
  
Death comes for us all. Even Johnny Lang.  
  
A/N Finale on it's way! Keep an eye on this story! 


	7. Vengeance & Retribution

The Crow A Poet's Grief By NiteFenix  
  
Chapter 7 – Vengeance & Retribution  
  
He felt like the Grim Reaper. He was here to take this man to the grave with him. Vengeance for killing him and Eleanor. The grim smile was slowly being replaced by a stern look, a look of determination.  
  
The crow which had been following him all the way from Boston was sitting perched on the pillar next to the ornate gate leading up to the villa. It let out a sad yet melodic cry. As the woeful creature took off Jim's extra sense revealed itself to him, one which he had discovered during his fight with the two bouncers at the club. He could see through this forlorn creature's eyes.  
  
The crow swooped down towards the gothic-styled villa, veering towards the upper floor windows and perched on the sill of one particular window. The blinds were open and Jim had a clear view of everything inside. There was a sole figure sitting inside a room where a lot of objects were covered with white sheets. He realized that the figure he had seen must be some piece of art.  
  
"Johnny sure has a knack for art these days it seems." He murmured to himself.  
  
The crow abruptly took off again and flew down towards a tree just outside what seemed to be the kitchen. It perched on a low hanging branch, creeping slowly forward towards an open window, cocking it's head to the side, listening, watching.  
  
"You want something to eat baby?" A familiar voice echoed as if in a long and empty corridor.  
  
"No, sweetie I'm fine!" A feminine voice followed.  
  
So he wasn't home alone. The crow hopped over from the branch down onto the window sill of the kitchen and Jim could see his intended target more clearly now. Johnny was humming to himself while making a sandwich. He looked up and saw the crow on the window sill.  
  
"...the fuck do you want? Scram bird!" He swooped his arms toward the crow and it lifted off flying towards the next window down. A woman was lying on a blanket in front of the fire place, naked except for her silk underwear. The crow tapped it's beak against the window and the woman's head jerked up.  
  
"Rico, there's a big fuckin' bird outside the window." She said, standing up and slowly backing off towards the kitchen door.  
  
Rico? This guy lies more than his fair share. Is his real name Johnny? It doesn't matter. He's dead either way.  
  
Headlights rolled across the grass planes in the distance and Jim, upon noticing it, immediately scrambled up the nearest tree outside the villa gates. At the house, the crow took off away from the window and flew back towards the gate.  
  
The headlights grew closer and Jim watched it with a keen interest.  
  
"James..." Someone said from nowhere.  
  
"Who's there?" Jim replied in question.  
  
"Come down here and find out."  
  
"And what if I don't want to?"  
  
"Then you're screwed."  
  
"If you're some badass with a vendetta then I'm screwed anyways." Jim mocked and jumped down from the tree he was perching in.  
  
"Thank you." The raspy voice came through clearly now and a tall stranger stepped out from the shadows.  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" Jim asked.  
  
The mysterious stranger adjusted his western style hat and smiled at Jim with half rotten teeth. His fiery eyes smoldered in the gloom.  
  
"They call me the Skull Cowboy."  
  
"Yea? So what do you want?"  
  
"I am just here to give you a message." The Skull Cowboy said matter of factly. A strong wind was beginning to blow.  
  
"What's the message? I've got word to do, I don't have the whole night to talk crap with a cowboy wannabe."  
  
"Patience James. The car that approaches, you must go back with the man inside. You are done here."  
  
"Who are you to judge whether I'm done here or not?" Jim was becoming furious.  
  
"There's no time to explain. All you need to know is that if you go in there, you're on your own. No powers, nothing."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because your work here is done. You were brought back to kill the man responsible for your death, and you have already accomplished that." The Skull Cowboy picked at something in his rotten teeth and grinned at Jim.  
  
"But the man in there killed me!" Jim shouted at his would-be malefactor.  
  
"Indeed, but he was only hired help, the man directly responsible for your death was Georgio Valentino. He ordered the hit on your fiancé and it was all out of greed."  
  
"Greed?" Jim asked.  
  
"Yes greed. His employers were after a certain artifact which is...how could I say this...very valuable and even more so in their hands. But Valentino didn't know the true value of this artifact; material value is so over- rated these days." The Skull Cowboy sniggered.  
  
Jim pondered these words and looked his malefactor straight in the eyes.  
  
"Who is his employer? What does all this have to do with Eleanor?" He demanded.  
  
"Calm down James. He calls himself Xander Varadochi in this world. In the underworld he is known as Xanado, the Snake Lord. As for Eleanor and how she ties into this. She is one in a long line of Maradochi Priestesses, as her mother was and her grandmother before her. It is their..."  
  
"Hang on...she's alive?"  
  
"Yes James, she pulled through, you didn't know?"  
  
"It seems a lot of details have been withheld from me." Jim said, broodingly.  
  
He looked up at the Skull Cowboy, with a new fury in his eyes.  
  
"And you, how do you know about all this?"  
  
The Skull Cowboy just held up his hands and shook his head.  
  
"I've told you enough, what you do from here is your own choice, just as long as you know that if you go in there, then you are weak as you once were."  
  
"But..." Jim started and reached out to the strange man, but the gust surrounding them started to disintegrate the Skull Cowboy, leaving only dust where Jim's hand was supposed to touch the man.  
  
A car door slammed behind him and he turned around, seeking the source of the noise.  
  
"Come-on Jim, let's go home." The older man said. Jim looked at him and then down at his trembling hands. Not sure what to do. A smile crept onto his face and he looked through the metal gates at the villa and then up at the black bird perched on the overhanging branch.  
  
"I am home." He said at last.  
  
"What do you mean?" Ramsey asked.  
  
"Tell Eleanor I love her." Jim said matter-of-factly as a bright light started to envelop him.  
  
"Sure." Ramsey replied.  
  
Jim stared at the former cop, smiling wanly.  
  
"What happens now?" Ramsey asked.  
  
Jim just grinned knowingly and the white light totally swallowed him up and faded, leaving only Ramsey and the night sky.  
  
"What happens now?" Ramsey repeated, and then he knew the answer. "Now, I go home." He murmured to himself and got into the car.  
  
"Now I go home." He said again as he drove off into the night.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"The war is far from over Paul Ramsey, and you are yet to play a bigger part in it." The Skull Cowboy grinned. He wrapped his leather coat tightly around him and looked up at the starry night above him.  
  
"Two birds in a bush..." He wondered and faded away into the night.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N That's it for now folks. Look out for more crow-based stories soon. I hope you liked this one. R & R as usual please. 


End file.
